A Flight of Arrows (21 page)

William glanced into the dark.
Hope?
“Not if I invade with this army.”

The Indian raised his brows. “Maybe that is not a thing you should be doing.”

“I haven't a choice. I'm not free to leave, and I'm no turncoat.”

Wasn't he though? He'd deserted Anna. And those Oneidas who'd grieved his absence for nineteen years without even looking upon their faces. His father, mother, brother.

William stood to his feet. “What of you? Will you ever go back to your
sister
?”

He hadn't meant to ask it in such a mocking tone, but Joseph didn't flinch. “One day I will go back. Unless Creator calls me to Himself first.” He looked up then, bronzed face reflecting sorrow. “I am still her brother.”

Joseph Tames-His-Horse held the canoe alongside the bateau a moment more, then dipped his paddle with his companions'. The bark vessel veered off, vanishing back into the mist with no more than a cutting wake to show it was ever there.

“See that?” said a soldier behind him. “Fair made my skin crawl.”

A hand nudged William's shoulder. “That big one looked straight at ye, Aubrey—like he fancied your scalp. Glad he's on our side, aye?”

William glanced aside at Sam, silent beside him on the bench. Sam had seen the Indian, no doubt, but was gazing now at William, a question in his hazel eyes.

“Glad enough,” he said to satisfy whoever had asked but wondered if, out in the mist in his canoe, Joseph Tames-His-Horse felt the same screaming dread building inside him, or the growing conviction that he was advancing toward the worst mistake he would ever make and no way out of it with his honor intact.

“You turned your coat.”

“Creator is over all, and in all…”
Maybe so. For even on the edge of the wilderness, the Almighty had found him—sent a praying Indian, of all things, one who knew both his names.

William Llewellyn Aubrey. He-Is-Taken of the Turtle Clan.

Neither name seemed claimable as his own. Nor did he know what manner of man he was becoming, only that there was no path forward from that shadowy place between without his betraying someone.

Green Bean Moon

Fort Oswego, Lake Ontario

T
he day the ravens darkened the sky over Oswego was the day Two Hawks saw his brother for the first time.

He witnessed what happened with those birds from the forest where he waited, watching the fort and the field encampment outside it busy with the comings and goings of warriors. Mississaugas were coming in over the lake in canoes. From the south came Senecas—two hundred at least. From the east, passing near the rock outcrop where Two Hawks hid, had come Thayendanegea leading some whites willing to follow him and over three hundred warriors from Oquaga and other towns loyal to the British.

Earlier that morning, down from the north along the lake, had come the first of St. Leger's army. With leaping heart Two Hawks had seen the great bateaux disgorge soldiers in green coats onto the shore, seen them march into the fort behind its earthen rampart. More warriors came with them, Caughnawagas in their canoes. These didn't go into the fort but joined their brethren on the field outside, an impressive number—nearing a thousand, Two Hawks guessed. Down among them were Louis Cook and Ahnyero, pretending to be like minded, learning all they could of what the British leaders meant next to do.

Though too far away to hear what the warriors outside the fort were saying, Two Hawks knew they weren't happy. Supplies promised at Niagara were nowhere to be found at Oswego. Some had come without muskets
or with no powder and ball. Many needed clothing, food, hatchets, blankets, things they'd come to expect from armies that invaded their lands and enticed them to fight. Thayendanegea and Colonel Butler and the one called Daniel Claus had assured the warriors that soon their needs would be met. Wait for St. Leger to come with the bulk of his army and its supplies, they said. Then they would see British promises kept. Then they would see British might.

Maybe such talking went on still as evening came down again. Two Hawks couldn't know. It was while he stewed on it with unraveling patience that he saw the ravens.

They came out of nowhere it seemed, thousands of them darkening the sky above the fort, their grating calls and thrumming wings a cacophony that made Two Hawks clap his hands over his ears. The ravens didn't pass over the fort and fly away. They circled back, covering the summer sky. Masses of them bulged and dipped like black smoke billowing, blotting out the sunlight, casting false dusk. Never had Two Hawks seen ravens behave so, or so many come together in one place. That it should be here above this fort, with all these warriors gathering…

With a prayer on his lips to drive back the horror raising every hair of his body on end, Two Hawks ducked from behind the rock and stood looking, listening. Some of the ravens alighted in the trees above him, cawing to each other. Fighting unreasoning panic, he asked Creator if this was a sign and if so what it meant, but the birds or their noise seemed to block his prayer.

When true dusk threatened and still the ravens circled and Ahnyero didn't come, Two Hawks's patience failed. Their supplies and extra weapons he pushed inside a hollow stump. Gathering only his rifle and his courage, he stepped out under an orange sky banded with shifting black, headed for the fort.

As he wove through the fires that edged the field like a scattering of stars, most of the warriors around him were too intent on watching the sky to notice one more Indian passing by. Though overall the camp was eerily silent, except for the swelling grate of bird voices, he heard mutterings of bad omens and premonitions and death. Unease weighed like the pressure before a storm breaks. Two Hawks moved among them, pretending he had a place to go and was going there. His breath came hard. William would be inside the fort. Probably staring at the sky like those outside.

Looking ahead through the warriors standing in clutches by their fires or arrested in their passage to stop and stare, he spotted a few green-coats and soldier hats among the shaved heads and painted faces clustered near the fort gate. His heart was a drum beating, his grip on the rifle a clench. Should he find Ahnyero, or dared he go inside the fort and look for William?

Brother, I am close. I am here, coming to you
. Sending his thoughts ahead, he strode toward the gate. No one stopped him. Other Indians were going into the fort, some coming out. He could do this. He could find—

“Go no farther!”

The hard grip on his arm, the hissing in his ear, shattered his focus so abruptly he yelped in surprise. Ahnyero had him by the arm. Beside him was Louis, his darker face radiating censure.

The scouts propelled him toward a stack of casks waiting to be hauled away to somewhere, out of the path of those passing through the gate in the falling twilight. There Ahnyero released him. “It is too much risk, going in there. Go back to the wood and wait.”

Two Hawks put his back to the gate and stood straight, taller than Ahnyero if not Louis. “My brother is here, unless not all Johnson's regiment have come?”

“They are come,” said Louis. “If your brother is part of that regiment, he is here.”

“I can find him. I will be careful.” He thought Ahnyero began to shake his head, but whether or not the scout would have relented, Two Hawks never found out.

“Spencer?” a voice said behind him. Ahnyero's English name.

The scout's gaze flew past Two Hawks, recognition lighting his eyes. He thrust Two Hawks aside and stepped past him. Two Hawks turned to see the pale-haired rebel spy, Sam Reagan.

Much recovered from his ordeal back in spring, Reagan was clothed in the green of his regiment but nearly as desperate looking in the eyes as he'd been then. So intent was he on Ahnyero, he didn't notice Two Hawks standing silent by the casks, a pace or two removed and partly blocked by Louis Cook's large frame.

“I didn't think to find you again. I've news…” Reagan dropped his voice. “There's to be an advance column sent out. Word's come from St. Leger, back at the Little Salmon River. Thinks he can take Stanwix without artillery, based on his presumption the fort isn't fully manned.” He grinned crookedly at that, having been one of those to give him that misinformation. “I'm ready to take this news myself to Gansevoort—I've but moments to make my break before I'm looked for.”

“You are sure of this advance?” Louis asked in English, stepping in closer to the pair. Two Hawks leaned sideways to see Reagan look with suspicion at this new face.

“He is a friend,” Ahnyero said.

Two Hawks kept his shoulder partly turned, his gaze on a group of Butler's rangers straggling past into the fort. Twilight was thickening, the air still filled with bird noise, drifting feathers, droppings, though the ravens had thinned, leaving gaps of deepening blue.

Reagan gestured at the sky filled with ravens. “Butler and Brant just got the Indians settled over not having supplies enough to go round and now this. Captain Watts is about to call assembly, but I can slip away if I don't go back for anything. Is there a guide can take me to Stanwix?”

Two Hawks at last drew near enough in the deepening twilight for Reagan to recognize him. “I will take him, after I find my brother.”

“You.” Reagan took a half step back, gaze darting over Two Hawks's features. “Does William know you're here?”

“No,” Ahnyero said, addressing Two Hawks. “You will not do it. I am sorry, brother. As for you,” he added, turning back to Reagan, “better you stay for now. Do not alert your officers by deserting. I will stay and attach myself to the Indians here for as long as I can safely do so. I will be your guide.”

He turned, questioning, to Louis, who nodded. “I will remain until St. Leger comes or I see with my own eyes men marching to meet him, know their number, the way they take.”

“There will be another time,” Ahnyero said to Two Hawks. “For now, return to Gansevoort with the words this man has told us. It is more than the other runners knew, and you are the last until we come.”

Two Hawks fought down the impulse to argue. While he struggled, Reagan said, “I'll stay—for now. And I'll persuade William to go with me when the time comes. It'll be soon.”

Two Hawks's disappointment was like the sky full of ravens crashing down to bury him. If only he could have looked upon his brother's face, even a glance…

No sooner had he wished it than a crowd of warriors and rangers at the gate parted, leaving clear an aisle like a gauntlet. Down its center strode one tall figure in green. Two Hawks had seen his own face in a mirror often enough to know the cast of his features. And he'd seen that portrait. It was William.

He thought his brother saw him too. William's head lifted. His stride lengthened. His mouth opened.

“Reagan!” Sound of his brother's voice froze Two Hawks. Then the crowd shifted. Bodies came between them. “Sam!”

Either his brother hadn't seen him, or he hadn't known who it was he
looked upon. He'd spotted his friend and was coming for him, pushing through those now blocking his path.

Ahnyero turned to him, urgent, and said, “Go. Quickly.”

Two Hawks turned and walked on unfeeling feet into the dark where the fires of a thousand warriors burned, no more than orange smudges in his blurring vision.